The Sword Of Angels (Gollancz S.F.)

by John Marco

  ‘Yes,’ said Aric. ‘I believe.’

  Daralor gestured to the letters in his hand. ‘And that other letter? That one is to Lukien?’

  Aric’s brows went up. ‘You know? I’m too obvious.’

  ‘It is time, that is all,’ said Daralor. But he grimaced. ‘You mean to have it taken across the desert?’

  ‘Lukien will go to Jador and Grimhold first, I am sure,’ said Aric. He looked down at the letter. ‘I know it’s asking a lot, Your Grace. Taking this across the desert won’t be easy.’

  ‘None of this is easy, Aric,’ said Daralor. He brightened suddenly. ‘This is a great quest, and from all the mortals the gods have chosen us for it. I have come to believe that, truly! The gods have their hands in all of this, for they know the evil your father has unleashed.’

  ‘Is that why you’re willing to help us, Prince Daralor?’ It was the one question Aric had never really got answered, at least not to his satisfaction. In all the time they’d spent together, it was a subject Daralor rarely broached. ‘I have wondered this, is all. You have more faith than I do sometimes, and it bewilders me.’

  ‘Does it? It should not. The answer is all around you, Aric.’ Daralor held out his falconry glove. ‘Put this on.’

  Aric did so without question, slipping the heavy leather glove onto his left hand.

  ‘Good. Now hold up your hand,’ directed Daralor. ‘That’s right. Just the way I did.’

  With the two remaining fingers of his right hand, Daralor gave a powerful whistle, watching the sky for his hawk, Echo. Hearing the call, the bird wheeled around and spotted its master beside the stranger with the outstretched hand. Aric braced himself, knowing what was coming.

  ‘Steady,’ laughed Daralor. ‘I told you, she won’t hurt you. Just keep your hand strong for her. She’ll land on it like a butterfly.’

  The hawk bore down on them, folding back its wings to dive. Aric grimaced.

  ‘A butterfly? The biggest damn butterfly I’ve ever seen.’

  ‘Oh, they get bigger,’ said Daralor. ‘Steady . . .’

  Despite his trepidation Aric kept the perch out for the bird. Gaining speed, the fabulous hawk drove through the air, making a perfect line for Aric. Then, when it was only yards away, its great wings flared out, striking Aric’s face with their breeze. The talons stretched, the head reared back, and the beautiful bird lilted gently onto Aric’s hand.

  ‘Beautiful!’ Aric exclaimed. Exhilarated, he raised the hawk above his head, turning his face slightly from the fierce wings. ‘Echo, you are fabulous!’ Aric turned to Daralor, who was smiling at him. ‘That was amazing. Can we do it again?’

  ‘I can teach you, if you like. We’ll have time, I think, until that letter of yours reaches Jador.’

  ‘Time? Oh, yes, Your Grace, a great deal of time.’ Aric looked at him hopefully. ‘Then you will have your messengers send my letters for me? Both of them?’

  ‘Of course.’ Daralor grinned admiringly at his prized hawk. ‘This is a fine place, don’t you think?’

  ‘You mean Nith? Yes, a very fine place, Your Grace.’

  ‘It’s worth saving, isn’t it?’

  ‘Certainly.’ Puzzled, Aric held the bird aloft. ‘I’m happy here. It’s a fine country. Peaceful.’

  ‘Raise your hand quickly,’ said Daralor. ‘Like this . . .’

  He made a fast gesture, snapping his hand upward the way he had before. Aric mimicked the act, sending the bird skyward again. Together the two of them watched Echo reach once more for the sun.

  ‘I think I have answered your question, Aric,’ said Prince Daralor.

  Aric nodded grimly. ‘Yes, Your Grace,’ he agreed. ‘You have.’

  For now, it was enough just to watch the sky.

  59

  With Thorin away at Richter estate, Jazana Carr spent most of her time alone, drinking too much wine and pining for the love she knew she had lost. Lionkeep seemed to shrink without Thorin’s enormous presence. The halls were too large, the tables too empty, and the faces of the many servants were just too damn unfriendly for Jazana to care. She had lost the man she loved to a woman who was much younger and prettier, and for Jazana Carr that was the worst of it. She had done her best to keep herself beautiful, sparing no expense in the care she lavished on her face and body. But the girl called Mirage had cast a spell over Thorin, stealing him, and Jazana knew she had lost him.

  Still, she considered things while Thorin was away, hatching plans to win him back. Whatever the cost, she intended to please her lover again. It was her fault that Thorin had turned away from her, she decided. She had come to this realization over an expensive bottle of wine, sipping it alone in her private chamber as she counted the diamonds in a golden urn near her bedside. The urn overflowed with the gems, jagged little reminders of her life in Norvor, lost to her now. She had been a shrew to Thorin. Picking up the diamonds, she dropped them slowly back into the urn, counting all the times she had nagged and needled him. She talked incessantly about Norvor. She nagged him constantly about regaining her throne. And she had threatened to leave him. No wonder he sought refuge in Mirage’s tender arms. She had driven him to her.

  Of all the people left to her in Lionkeep, only Rodrik Varl had remained steadfast. Good Roddy, so loyal and true, the kind of man Jazana wished she could love. She had always fallen for cruel men like Thorin, but Roddy would have been the perfect mate. Drunk, she wondered what her life would have been like with him as her husband. Even now, with all her mercenaries siding with Thorin – mostly because they feared him – Rodrik stayed close to her, always checking on her welfare, never wandering far. Jazana leaned back in her bed, letting her head sink into the plush pillow, and stared at the dark ceiling. The taper by her bedside had burned down nearly to a nub, but it still cast shadows on the stone walls and tapestries. The hours had slipped away and Lionkeep was silent. Jazana could hear only her own breath and the breeze outside her window. She stretched out her arm, reaching again for the urn full of diamonds, casually letting them slip out of her hand as her eyelids grew heavy.

  Sleep did not come easily for Jazana any more. Unused to sleeping alone, she preferred a man beside her, be it Thorin or one of her numerous suitors. And Lionkeep, despite its quiet, had hardly been a relaxing place for her. As she stared at the ceiling she wondered how things were in Richter, and if Thorin and his new woman were laying together even now, under the same dark sky. Like grains of sand, the diamonds slipped lifelessly through Jazana’s fingers, a fortune in gems that no longer brought her happiness. Drunk, sullen, she rolled over and blew out the candle, encasing herself in darkness.

  ‘I have no children,’ whispered to herself. ‘No lover to share my bed. I have no family, no kin, no one to carry on after I am gone.’

  The words made Jazana feel hollow. Her father’s face came to her in a flash, haunting her. He had been a vicious man, single-handedly teaching her to hate his gender. While she grew to womanhood he took her to his bed, and in her most despairing moments she could still feel his filthy hands on her. But she had shown him, hadn’t she? Hadn’t she made something of herself?

  ‘The Queen of Norvor,’ she said, then laughed because it meant nothing. ‘Maybe you were right, Father. Maybe I am just a slut.’

  When she was a child, Jazana would cry herself to sleep. But tonight she had no tears for herself, and so closed her eyes and hoped that slumber would take her soon. The wine did a good job of salving her, though, and in a few minutes she drifted off, her mind ripe with visions of her father and the mother who had died too young. Lionkeep’s tomb-like silence lulled her as she slept, and the hours tripped languidly away. Eventually, even Jazana’s dreams faded.

  Then, a sound awakened her. Startled by the commotion, she shook the sleep from her eyes and sat up. In the hall outside her chamber she heard the noise of heavy feet stomping and a voice barking angrily.

  Thorin’s voice.

  Jazana struggled to wake herself, fixing the straps of he
r elegant nightgown, wondering how and why Thorin had returned. But it was him, she was sure of it, and as he neared her room she realized he was shouting. The door to her chamber exploded open. Jazana jumped.

  ‘Jazana!’ he yelled. ‘Where are you?’

  The room with Jazana’s bed was not near the door. Another chamber separated them, though the distance was not great and Thorin traversed it easily. Seconds later he appeared, bellowing over his shoulder for the servants to stay out. When he turned his eyes on her, Jazana saw the rage in them. The Devil’s Armour swam angrily over his huge body, though he had doffed the frightful helmet. He flexed his gauntlets into a pair of metal fists. Jazana tossed her naked feet over the bedside and stood, staring in astonishment.

  ‘Thorin?’

  ‘Jazana, you treacherous old bitch,’ he seethed. ‘I—’

  Shadows appeared in the room behind him. Thorin whirled to see a pair of maids, concerned and clutching their bedclothes. ‘Get out!’ he thundered. ‘Or I’ll burn you alive!’

  The maids went scurrying, slamming the unseen door behind them. Thorin turned back toward Jazana and shook an angry finger at her.

  ‘I know what you did, you jealous harlot!’

  Stunned, Jazana tried to speak, her words coming out in a stutter. ‘Thorin, what . . . ?’

  ‘You killed her! Bitch!’

  His open palm shot forward, catching her across the jaw. The jolt spun Jazana backward, splaying her across the bed. Stunned and gasping, she looked up at Thorin’s maddened visage, tasting blood from her crushed lip.

  ‘Thorin . . . what?’

  ‘You sent your mercenaries after me, didn’t you?’ He stalked over to her. ‘You killed Mirage.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘Stop saying that!’ He grabbed hold of her leg and dragged her off the bed until she hit the floor. ‘Whore! I know what you did!’

  Jazana grabbed desperately at the bed, terrified and confused. Thorin’s shouts rang in her ears, but his words were senseless.

  ‘Why are you here?’ she cried. ‘What happened to you?’

  He stooped and took hold of her hair, wrenching her up to her knees. Holding her, he put his spitting face against her own. ‘Now you lie? You think I’m so stupid?’

  Again he struck her, knocking her down. The pain of the blow made Jazana’s skull shake. She clawed away, searching the darkness for escape. Thorin snatched up her wrist and yanked her bodily off her feet. Her blinking eyes fought to focus. Blood drooled down her chin. His mouth curled upward with a snarl as he held her.

  ‘Let go of me!’ she hissed.

  ‘After all I’ve done for you, you repay me with treachery!’

  ‘What are you saying?’

  ‘Thorin!’

  The shout came from behind him. Thorin turned to see Rodrik Varl in the threshold of the chamber. Still in his bedclothes, the fiery mercenary had a sword in hand.

  ‘Let her go,’ he ordered. ‘Or can you only beat up on women?’

  Thorin held fast to Jazana’s wrist, crushing it in his iron grip. ‘Of course you come to help her. Varl, you water-headed ass . . .’

  ‘Let her go,’ repeated Varl sharply. ‘Now, Thorin.’

  Like a doll Thorin tossed Jazana back onto the bed. She scrambled away from him. ‘Roddy, don’t!’

  ‘Yes, Roddy,’ taunted Thorin. ‘Be a good boy and don’t get hurt.’

  ‘Roddy, he’s raving,’ said Jazana. ‘Get away, please!’

  ‘I won’t leave you to be beaten like a dog, Jazana,’ said Varl. He stood his ground, hefting his weapon. ‘Thorin, go. Leave her alone and get yourself together.’

  Thorin turned toward him, smiling as an idea lit his face. ‘This is just right,’ he mused. ‘Perfect, even.’ To Jazana he said, ‘You took the woman I loved, bitch. And so I will take this man that you love, and our score will be settled.’

  Jazana leapt from the bed. ‘No!’

  Thorin seized her by the shoulder and pushed her aside, then turned on Varl. ‘Come and get your lesson, Norvan.’

  ‘Roddy, don’t! He’ll kill you!’ screamed Jazana.

  ‘Yes I will,’ said Thorin. He took a step toward Varl, holding up his armoured arm as his only weapon. ‘How long have you wanted this, Rodrik? How long have you waited?’

  ‘A very long time,’ sneered Varl.

  Wrapping both fists around his sword pommel, he unleashed his attack, slashing down ferociously at Thorin. Thorin’s arm shot up to parry. The sword sparked as it slid from the metal. Jazana screamed, crying for help that wouldn’t come. Varl hacked again and again, each blow blocked by Thorin’s swift moves. To Jazana, the meˆle´e was a blur, swathed in the darkness of her pitch black chamber. The combatants danced noisily through the room, knocking over furniture and tangling in bed linens.

  ‘Stop it!’ begged Jazana.

  Varl barraged Thorin, quickly raining blows, each one expertly parried. At last Thorin’s hand shot up, catching the blade in flight. Varl tried yanking it free, but a flexing of the baron’s fist shattered it like glass. Thorin tossed the remnants aside, leaving Varl with the weapon’s useless stub. Before the mercenary could retreat he reached out and grabbed his neck, lifting him off the ground. Varl’s hands flew to his throat to pry loose the iron fingers, gurgling helplessly as Thorin carried him toward the nearest wall.

  ‘I loved her, Jazana,’ Thorin moaned. ‘I loved her!’

  ‘Fate above, Thorin, don’t!’

  But the demon inside him had seized the baron completely. Jazana saw the madness in him, pure like crystal water. His eyes glowed red as he held Rodrik near the wall, cocking back his arm. Rodrik Varl sputtered hatefully, knowing what was coming. Thorin looked remorseless. His arm snapped forward, smashing Varl into the wall. Made of stone, it shattered his skull like a melon, spraying blood and smearing brains against the rough surface. Jazana Carr shrieked. Thorin dropped the twitching corpse to the floor.

  ‘You may deny it all you wish, Jazana,’ he said. ‘But I know what you did.’

  Jazana could not speak, not even to defend herself. Her gaze remained on Rodrik’s body and the gory stream across the wall. Finally, a hint of regret showed on Thorin’s face. He shook his head, studying the dead mercenary.

  ‘He was loyal to you until the end. Why could you not be as loyal to me?’

  ‘Madness,’ groaned Jazana. Her broken lip continued dripping blood. ‘You’re mad.’

  Thorin went to her bed and leered at her. ‘What will you do? Leave me? You will never leave me, Jazana. I will never let you go.’

  The lust in his face brought bile to Jazana’s throat. ‘Gods, no . . .’

  He fell on her, stripping off her gown and driving her down into the bed, smothering her with his heavy body. Stripping himself, he forced her legs apart with his spiky gauntlet. Jazana’s screams filled the chamber.

  This time, no one came to help her.

  When it was over, Jazana laid alone in her bed in shock and horror.

  Thorin had gone an hour before, leaving her in her tattered nightgown to stare at the corpse of Rodrik Varl and endure the thousand bruises he had inflicted on her body. The keep remained unbearable quiet. The frightened servants, locked in their chambers, left their queen and her murdered mercenary to themselves. Jazana supposed they were waiting until morning. When they came, they would find her battered. She thought about this, about her bruised and bloodied face, and wondered what they would think of her now.

  In the urn at her bedside, the jagged diamonds remained, undisturbed by the shattering events. Beside them rested the bottle of wine. Jazana picked it up and surveyed its half-full contents. Then, without hesitation, she selected a gemstone and placed it in her mouth, swallowing it down with a swig from the bottle. This she did again and again, each little gem cutting her throat as it slid down to her stomach. She knew her death would be an agony, but Jazana did not care. With Roddy’s visceral remains spilled across her bedroom floor, a lesser death seemed cowardly.

>   60

  Stay awake, Gilwyn, urged Ruana. It’s not much further.

  The Akari’s voice coaxed Gilwyn to lift his head. Ahead of him, the forest road seemed to stretch on forever, with no hint of Koth except the marks made by carriages and horse hooves. Gilwyn licked his dried lips and swallowed, trying to stem the sickness overtaking him. The slow canter of his horse made him sway from side to side. The motion stoked his illness. Wanting to vomit, Gilwyn nevertheless swallowed it back. He had been this way for the past five days, exhausted and dizzy, brutalized from the long trip north. The rass venom that remained in his blood had plagued him the entire journey, but now, when his terrible trek was near its end, it threatened to knock him from the saddle.

  ‘I need to rest,’ he groaned. ‘Just for a little while.’

  You can’t rest here, said Ruana. It’s not safe. It will be dark again soon.

  ‘But we don’t know where we are.’

  We are near Koth, Gilwyn. Don’t you remember?

  Gilwyn nodded, vaguely recalling the trees of the forest. He had been a boy in the city, and had sometimes ventured out of the library to be among the trees and wildlife here. Instinctively, he knew he was home, but the day’s ride had wearied him and he longed to lay his head down and sleep. It had been weeks since he had left Roall, leaving behind the kind-hearted Kelan and his wife Marna. Gilwyn had been happy there, content to help them on their little farm in the valley between the mountains. Everything had been idyllic there. His troubles had seemed a thousand miles away. But Kahldris had shattered his peace, and Ruana had reminded him of his mission. Gilwyn had done his best to make it to Koth quickly, but his lame leg and the relentless sickness of the venom had slowed him to an almost embarrassing pace. He had begged for money in the towns along the way and slept in small villages where people took pity on him, but he had never given up, slogging all the way north to Koth.